Chahat's Journey!! part 5 Updated Page3 !!!

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alisha Sharma

@alisha_harshad

Rocker

Posted: 15 years ago

#11

Thank Yuh all of yuh who liked my This post.. here i hab updated part 3 as well... hope yuh will like it

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fungrl

@fungrl

Voyager

Posted: 15 years ago

#12

can't wait for the new tenant.....lets see how Chahat and her family helps him

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alisha Sharma

@alisha_harshad

Rocker

Posted: 15 years ago

#13

The next morning, Chahat woke up to the sound of activity coming from the kitchen. Groggily, she turned over in bed and squinted at the clock on her nightstand. Seeing that she had slept in, Chahat put on her robe and went to the kitchen.

There, she found Prem holding a medium sized cardboard box, while Heer was collecting things to stick into it.

"Plates, cups, utensils, paper towels," said Heer, verbalizing her list out loud. "Shampoo, toilet paper, soap... am I missing anything, Dear?" she asked Prem.

"You have everything in here but the kitchen sink," he laughed.

"I just want to make sure he'll have everything he needs," remarked Heer, seriously.

"Who'll have everything he needs?" asked Chahat with a yawn.

"Good morning, Sweetheart," greeted Prem, shifting his load to the other arm. "Your mother and I are letting someone rent the little yellow house."

"But," protested Chahat, now fully wide awake, "I thought you said I could turn it into a studio!"

"Someone else needs the house more than you do," said Heer. "Maybe you could set up your easel in the living room," she suggested.

"I suppose so," sighed Chahat, disappointedly. "Who am I losing out to?" she inquired, fixing herself a bowl of cereal.

"His name is Pratik Sharma," said Prem. "When he arrives here next Monday, your Mom and I want you to leave him alone."

"Why?" asked Chahat, munching her cereal.

"Pratik has spent the last nine years in the state penitentiary," answered Prem, soberly.

Chahat choked on her breakfast.

"You mean, an ex-convict?" she exclaimed, disbelievingly.

"He'll be out on parole," explained Heer, placing a handful of clean dishcloths into the box.

"What did he do... rob a bank?" asked Chahat.

"He killed his father," replied Prem.

Chahat sank into a kitchen chair and buried her face in her hands. She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"You're going to let a murderer rent our sweet little yellow house?!" she cried.

"To be fair, it sounded like it was self-defense," added Prem.

"And Sheriff Malhotra said that Pratik became a Christian while in prison," said Heer, consolingly.

"Mom," argued Chahat, "that kind of person will say anything to get out!"

"Hold on, Chahat," said Prem, putting the box down on the table. "You don't know this man. Give him a chance to prove himself before calling him a liar. The Sheriff said Pratik was tortured from the age of four to twelve. Not many people have given him a chance, but this family will! After your mother and I have gotten to know him, we expect you to treat him like you would want to be treated."

" Tortured?" repeated Chahat, with a shudder. "He sounds creepy!"

"What did I just tell you?" asked Prem, patiently.

"I'll be nice to him, Dad," replied Chahat, reluctantly. "I hope for your sake, he doesn't turn out to be a faker."

"For my sake," answered Prem, "I hope so, too."

"I've never met anyone who was tortured," mused Chahat. She was about to wonder how Pratik was tortured, but suddenly changed her mind. She didn't want to know. The whole thing made her feel uncomfortable. The little yellow house wasn't far from their own house. To have a man like that, living right next door to them-- the very thought troubled Chahat.

"We're going over to get the house ready for Pratik," said Heer, putting a pan into the box. "Do you want to come?"

Chahat hesitated. Her parents were too kind for their own good; someone had to look out for them.

"Sure," said Chahat.

The key turned in the door of the little yellow house. Prem swung open the door and brushed aside the cobwebs.

"It's been a long time," said Heer, following Prem and Chahat inside.

"If I remember correctly," said Prem, thoughtfully, "Chahat was two when we moved to the other house."

"It seems like it was only yesterday," sighed Heer, accepting a hug from her husband. "Remember how Chahat loved to sit by that window and watch the bay?"

"And when I picked her up, she would coo like a little dove," reminisced Prem.

"Okay, okay," groaned Chahat, "after you're both done going down memory lane, we do have work to do."

"I also remember," sighed Prem with a small groan of his own, "how our Chahat always fidgeted and wanted to be put down when you tried to hug her."

"I couldn't cuddle her, unless she was worn out," smiled Heer.

The floors were swept and mopped; the windows were washed and the faded curtains were replaced with new handmade ones Heer had sewn. The carpets were vacuumed and the bathroom was completely scrubbed clean. Prem and Heer's old bedroom was to be Pratik's room. Chahat put clean sheets on the bed and set a pile of comforters in the closet, for in the winter, Three Mile Bay averaged a low of 8.2 degrees. However, it was June, and Chahat hoped that their "guest" wasn't going to stay long enough to need the winter blankets.

The utilities were turned on, and the appliances were found to still be in working order. All old personal belongings were packed into boxes and put into storage. After Prem repaired the swing in the enclosed porch, he and Heer sat down on it to take a small rest.

"I remember," mused Prem, an arm around his wife, "sitting here after I had taken you home that second night. When I saw my Little Dove come running up to the house, I knew I was going to marry you."

He kissed Heer as they nestled together, the swing creaking as they gently rocked back and forth.

"Don't you two ever stop?" laughed Chahat, coming out of the house and into the enclosed porch where her parents were hiding.

Just wait until you and Rahul are married," replied Prem, "then you'll sing a different tune."

Chahat wrinkled her nose in aversion at the thought.

"The tulips in front of the porch died a long time ago," she pointed out, trying to change the subject.

"I loved those flowers," sighed Heer, leaning her head on Prem's shoulder.

"I have an idea," suggested Prem, with a twinkle in his eye, "why don't we go down to the nursery and pick up some tulips-- you know, white and yellow ones, like we used to have."

"I don't think the ex-con will care about flowers," laughed Chahat.

"They're not for him, but for your mother," replied Prem, patiently.

"A thick bed of tulips," remembered Heer. "Just like the old days! If I caught the breeze just right, I could smell them from my bedroom window."

"I have that room now," commented Chahat.

"That's right, Sweetheart," smiled Heer.

The Juneja family went to the nursery and bought up every full-grown white and yellow tulip they had. With tender loving care, the flower bed was soon restored to its original glory.

No matter how hard Chahat dreaded Monday, it finally came. Prem and Heer were excited about the prospect of their new neighbor, while Chahat shook her head; they were obviously deluded people-- inviting a total stranger with a criminal record into the house next to theirs. What were they thinking?

"What time is he supposed to arrive?" asked Heer, after she had cleared away the breakfast dishes.

"Raj said he'll bring Pratik over as soon as his bus comes in," answered Prem. "I'd guess about late afternoon. What's all that noise coming from the living room?" he asked.

"Chahat is setting up her studio," replied Heer. "Remember, we told her that she could use the living room, since we gave the little house to Pratik?"

"Oh, yeah," muttered Prem, wondering how much of the living room Chahat was going to take up with her art supplies.

"Mom," called Chahat from the next room, "where do you want me to put the coffee table?"

John let out an involuntary groan.

"This is our Chahat's future career we're talking about," reminded Heer.

"I'll put it in Pratik's living room," volunteered Prem with a loving smile.

He carried the unwanted object to the little yellow house. By the time he came back, prem found the living room had been transformed into an art studio. Chahat had moved the couch that sat in front of the large bay window, and had set up her old easel there. The couch was now at the other end of the room, along with Prem's bookcase and Heer's lighthouse lamp that Rishab had given her for Christmas several years ago.

"Hi, Dad," smiled Chahat, as Prem passed through the room, looking a little bewildered.

He shook his head and returned to the kitchen where Heer was placing a pan of homemade cake into the oven.

"That'll taste good," smiled Prem.

"It's for our new neighbor," replied Heer.

"I'm sure he'll like it," he sighed. "Well, I'm going to the office and catch up on some work before Rishab arrives, tomorrow."

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poonam

@P.Kamaljit.Sean

Stunner

+ 6

Posted: 15 years ago

#14

hey nice update loving it

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441240

Suspended

Posted: 15 years ago

#15

hey........
this is a very different and interesting concept...................
can't wait 4 da next part............

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alisha Sharma

@alisha_harshad

Rocker

Posted: 15 years ago

#16

Part 5

Prem and Rishab's office was a converted bedroom down the main hall of the Junejas' house. The two men had taken a lot of ribbing about the fact they worked from home. Their independent contractor computer consulting business had expanded over the years into developing software for bank systems and large corporations. Because of this, Prem and Rishab often took turns flying to locations all over the world, to help set up the software and to train people in using it. As a matter of fact, Prem had first met Heer while on a business trip to Canada. Now, Rishab was in Hong Kong, counting down the days till he could return home to Three Mile Bay.

Chahat sat down on her stool in front of the easel and began to sketch out a scene onto her canvas. Natural light shone through the window behind her, as she etched out the fluid lines of a heron. She gazed at the canvas, and then tossed aside her pencil. Chahat was too distracted to concentrate on her work.

She glanced up at the clock. It wasn't even ten yet. Don't misunderstand, Chahat wasn't eager for Pratikto come, for she was as set against him as at the first. However, all of her preconceived notions of who ex-convicts were and what they were like, had not stopped her from being curious. As the minutes ticked by, she became restless. After she had eaten lunch, Chahat donned her fishing gear and went outside to her favorite fishing spot to get her mind off of Pratik.

She cast her line gently onto the water, without making any splashes that would scare away her quarry, and looked off into the horizon thoughtfully. Chahat thought over what Rahul had told her when he met her at church on Sunday.

"Don't forget, I'm still waiting for my answer," he had said.

The sincere look in his eyes had confused Chahat.

"Rahul can be so compelling, when he wants to be," sighed Chahat, with a small laugh.

She expertly cast her fly line over her shoulder, while tugging at the slack at the appropriate time, to give her line more forward thrust-- a maneuver anglers call double hauling. After her fly landed several feet in front of her, Chahat reeled in a little to tighten her line.

"It's getting rough," she observed to herself, seeing whitecaps breaking on the water in the distance.

A strong gust of wind blew into her mouth, temporarily robbing Chahat of her breath. The gale began to pull at her long black hair, whipping it into her face. Just then, her line tugged as a smallmouth bass took the hook!

"Easy there," muttered Chahat, adjusting the tension on her fly line.

Chahat gently pulled on the line, nudging the fish in her direction. Slowly but deliberately, she reeled him in and scooped him up into her net. She deftly grabbed the priest, a wooden handle with a metal head, and swiftly dealt the fish a blow over the eyes, stunning it so it wouldn't feel anything when she finished it off with her knife.

All the while, the water was becoming more restless. As she finished cleaning her catch, a torrent of rain descended on the bay, pelting Chahat with hard droplets of water. Collecting her gear, she made her way to the house just as the Sheriff's squad car pulled up. The window rolled down and Sheriff Malhotra's familiar voice greeted her.

I see you've had success, even in this weather," he said, seeing the cleaned fish she had wrapped in newspaper.

Chahat grinned confidently.

"I don't discourage easily," she laughed.

"Tell your parents I've brought Pratik," instructed the Sheriff.

Chahat nodded and disappeared inside the house, not getting any glimpse of their new neighbor.

"Leave it to Chahat to go fishing in weather like this," chuckled the Sheriff, rolling back up his car window.

"Who's she?" asked Pratik.

"Who? Chahat?" asked the Sheriff. "That was Prem and Heet Juneja's daughter-- the ones who are letting you rent their yellow house. Now remember, be polite," repeated the Sheriff. "They're good Christian folks."

"I'll remember," replied Pratik, with a sharpness that he hadn't intended.

Years of prison life had molded his speech into what others would term, defiant. Even when that wasn't what he was feeling, his words came out the same way.

"Mom!" exclaimed Chahat, breathlessly running into the kitchen where Heer was preparing dinner.

"Chahat!" Heer cried in dismay, "how many times do I have to remind you to wipe your feet off before coming inside? Just look at my floor!"

"Sorry, Mom," said Chahat, seeing the puddles she had tracked into the house. "It's raining outside."

"And yet, you still caught your fish," sighed Heer, seeing the folded newspaper in her hand. Then she noticed Chahat's clothes. "Sweetheart, you're soaking wet!"

"Mom," repeated Chahat, "the Sheriff's out front with Pratik!"

"I'll go tell your father," said Heer, immediately taking off her apron and going to the office down the hall.

Chahat stood there, stupidly dripping more water onto the floor, until her parents came down the hall and went to the front door.

"Sweetheart, go change into dry clothes," instructed Heer, before Prem opened the door.

"But," protested Chahat, "I want to see what he looks like!"

"Now!" ordered Prem.

Disappointedly, Chahat went to her room. From her bedroom, she heard the front door opening, and her parents asking the two to come inside from the rain. Chahat could hear her parents company manners, as they exchanged hellos, and talked about the weather with Sheriff Malhotra.

"Yeah," said Prem, "the jet stream is playing with our perfect weather. Summer is usually the quietest time of the year."

"That's a fact," agreed the Sheriff. "Well, if it's all right with you folks, I'd like to take Pratik to the yellow house and get him settled in."

"I'll go with you," volunteered Prem. "I've had the utilities turned on..." here the voices trailed off until Chahat heard the front door close, indicating that the men had left. Chahat stuck her head out. Heer was walking back to the kitchen.

"Well?" asked Chahat, buttoning her blouse. "What was he like?"

"He barely said two words together, Sweetheart," replied Heer. "From the little I saw of him, he seemed nice."

"I still think this wasn't a good idea," warned Chahat.

"If Pratik doesn't work out, you can tell everybody, 'I told you so,'" replied Heer. "Although, I know you won't find any pleasure in saying it. Oh, my! I completely forgot to give Pratik the housewarming cake I made for him."

"I'll take it over," volunteered Chahat.

"Your father and I don't want you around Pratik until we're more sure of his character," answered Heer. "Prem can take it over to him, later."

Chahat grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the kitchen table and returned to her easel in the living room. The rain continued to beat on the window pane, filtering Chahat's natural light. Intent on carrying on with her work, she opened a tube of acrylic, her favorite painting medium, and mixed it with another color with her blending knife. As she glanced out the window, Chahat caught sight of a small orange-red glow coming from inside the enclosed porch of the little yellow house. Curious, Chahat set down her mixing knife and watched the small light go up and down, as if someone was smoking a cigarette.

"Sheriff Malhotra doesn't smoke," muttered Chahat. "That must be Pratik."

After a few more puffs of smoke, Pratik returned inside. Chahat still hadn't gotten a good look at him. She had just returned to her painting, when Prem came through the door, dripping rain from his parka.

"Sweetheart," asked Prem, "would you please get me a towel?"

Chahat got up from her stool and brought back a dry towel from the bathroom.

"Thanks," he said, taking it from her and drying off the puddle he had made on the floor. "It's really coming down outside."

Heer entered the living room and stood beside Chahat, both silently waiting to hear what, if anything, had happened.

"Well," began Prem, recognizing the girls' quiet plea for news, "that young man is going to have a hard time ahead of him."

"Why do you say that?" asked Heer.

"Let me sit down first and take off my shoes," said Prem, going to the couch and pulling off his boots.

Chahat returned to her art stool, while Heer sat down next to her husband on the couch.

"God help those who are alone in this world," prayed Prem out loud. He leaned back and put an arm around his wife. "When I shook hands with Pratik, I don't know if you noticed it Heer, but I could feel his hand trembling, as if it took everything in him not to let go. And every time I looked at him squarely in the eyes, he'd turn away from me. Pratik treated Raj the same way, so I guess it's nothing personal."

Prem paused thoughtfully before continuing.

"Pratik had ONE bag-- all of his earthly possessions in one duffel bag. Raj and I went about the house, showing him where everything was at, and he could only nod, and mumble 'thank you.' At one point, Pratik started shaking so much, that he had to go out on the porch and light up a cigarette. I tell you," predicted Prem, sadly, "if he lasts one month in Three Mile Bay, I'd be surprised."

Chahat frowned, and returned to her painting. True, she wasn't exactly rooting for Pratik, but she hated to hear the sounds of defeat even before the battle had begun.

---------------------------------

Pratik didn't come out of his house until it was time for him to walk to work at the Old Mill Camp Ground a few miles down the main road. Chahat had wanted to watch from her bedroom window, to try and get a glimpse of his face as he went by, but Pratik had surprised her by getting an early start, so she had missed him altogether.

Chahat soon forgot the newcomer, however, for today was the day when Rishab was to return from the Hong Kong business trip. The Juneja family drove down to the Watertown International Airport and greeted Rishab as he walked toward them with his suitcases.

"Hi, Prem!" Rishab exclaimed, shaking his best friend's hand, and then hugging him warmly.

"It's good to have you back, Rishab!" said Prem. "Did you have a good flight?"

"Yup, but my arms sure got tired!" Rishab laughed, wearily. "Have you been holding down the fort while I've been gone, Heer?" he asked, giving Heer a hug as well.

"The house hasn't been the same without you," smiled Heer.

"Yeah," teased Chahat, "it's been quieter!"

"Oh, it has, has it?!" exclaimed Rishab, taking the brim of Chahat's cap and playfully pulling it down over her eyes. "Catch any good fish lately?"

As the family walked out to the car, Chahat related to Rishab a near encounter with a large pike a few days back. Then, she suddenly remembered that she had news to tell.

"Uncle Rishab," informed Chahat, as they drove back to Three Mile Bay, "you'll never guess what Dad and Mom did! They rented our little yellow house to an ex-con from the state penitentiary!"

"When did his happen?" asked Rishab, sitting up in surprise.

"He arrived yesterday," said Heer. "His name is Pratik Sharma, and he's a professing Christian."

"Can he fish?" was Rishab's next question.

"I don't know," laughed PRem. Rishab would think to ask that!

"That's not all," continued Chahat, "he was in prison for second-degree murder for killing his father! Sheriff Malhotra says Pratikwas tortured by his father when he was a little boy."

Upon hearing this, Rishab's face fell. He himself, had been tortured by his step-father when he was a boy.

Prem gave Chahat a disapproving look.

"Are you going to tell everyone, that?" asked Prem.

"It's only Uncle Rishab," replied Chahat.

"I don't mind you telling Rishab," admonished PRem, "but, you've told at least three others, as well. I wish you would show more compassion, Chahat. How would you like it, if you had been the one who was Tortured, and someone went around informing others of the fact?"

Chahat was quiet. She felt a small pang of guilt, but Pratik had been convicted of second-degree murder! It wasn't as if he were innocent, or merely a victim like Uncle Rishab!

"Does he have anyone on the outside?" asked Rishab, gravely.

"No one but the warden of the prison," answered Prem, glancing in the rear view mirror at his friend. "Sheriff Malhotra is his parole officer, and he's trying to help the young man as best as he can."